Delivered on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on August
28, 1963. Source: Martin Luther King, Jr: The Peaceful Warrior, Pocket Books,
NY 1968
Five
score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the
Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light
of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of
withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of
captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the
Negro is still not free.
One
hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the
manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years
later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast
ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still
languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in
his own land.
So we
have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have
come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our
republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of
Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was
to fall heir.
This
note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America
has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are
concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the
Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient
funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We
refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of
opportunity of this nation.
So we
have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the
riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this
hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time
to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of
gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of
segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the
doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our
nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of
brotherhood.
It
would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to
underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the
Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating
autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a
beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now
be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as
usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is
granted his citizenship rights.
The
whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until
the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my
people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice.
In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful
deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the
cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must
forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. we
must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again
and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with
soul force.
The
marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us
to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced
by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied
up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.
We
cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march
ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of
civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" we can never be satisfied
as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in
the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied
as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.
We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a
Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not
satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters
and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am
not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations.
Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas
where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and
staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of
creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is
redemptive.
Go back
to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana,
go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow
this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of
despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and
frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted
in the American dream.
I have
a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of
its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are
created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia
the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to
sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even
the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice
and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I
have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they
will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their
character. I have a dream today.
I have
a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently
dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed
into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join
hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and
brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall
be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be
made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the
Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope.
This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be
able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we
will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful
symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to
pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for
freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This
will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new
meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every
mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation,
this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New
Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom
ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from
the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks
of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of
Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring
from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let
freedom ring.
When we
let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from
every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of
God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and
Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro
spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at
last!"